


Spanish Coast

by deikus_is_hellbound



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia, M/M, antonio x arthur, england x spain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 09:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deikus_is_hellbound/pseuds/deikus_is_hellbound
Summary: Arthur takes a vacation to Spain to visit his boyfriend, but he isn't sure if it's worth the trouble.





	Spanish Coast

Sometimes Arthur hates his weak,weak heart. Particularly when it concerns a Spaniard that he very vividly remembers despising a few centuries ago.   
But now here he is in the sweltering heat, withering away on a towel which is hardly enough barrier from the scorching heat of the sand and the delicate skin of his exposed legs. He has an umbrella, and while that protects his horridly pasty white skin from the sun, it does nothing to alleviate the stifling humidity surrounding him that seems to have sweat worming its way out of every single pore in his body. Really, the only reprieve he has is the view, and he only partially means the crystalline ocean sprawling across the horizon. Splashing around in the glittering water is the man who’s got Arthur cursing himself, but really he knows he’d never have said no to Antonio, eye candy aside. The man has some uncanny power over Arthur; the way that thick bottom lip puckers into a pout at any ounce of disappointment, and that hopeless glimmer in those big doe eyes of his -- really Arthur stands no chance in hell. Once he’d seen past Antonio being his rival Arthur Had discovered that the things he’d overlooked about the man in the past are quite compelling. Antonio is like a drug he can’t quit, no matter how infuriating it is to want another person so intensely, so hopelessly, he finds that past his irritation at his loss of independence he really just wants to be near Antonio again. And after all his rebuttals and refusals and his utter self loathing at being so attached to another, he always caves to Antonio’s whims.   
Arthur is just lucky that Antonio’s whims usually end up with something good for him in the end.   
Soaking wet and absolutely sizzling in the sun, Antonio starts to run back over to him from the tide, shaking those thick chestnut locks. Arthur offers the other a small smile, an acquiescence. Sure. He is having fun potentially burning to a crisp on the beach. Definitely. Antonio can just do his thing. Arthur can contentedly try not to die while the heat consumes him just to get a gratuitous glimpse of his boyfriend soaked in water and clad in nothing else but swimwear. Arthur fans himself with his magazine, and he’s unsure of which heat he’s attempting to relieve himself from.   
“Arthur, you know it’s much cooler in the water!” Antonio insists for the umpteenth time. Really, the Spaniard drives a hard bargain, but he feels he’s betrayed himself enough for the day and going out in the sun to inevitably be burned is really not on his to do list. He’d much rather not feel like every movement of skin is a burden.   
“Antonio, dear, I’m afraid you’ve no inkling of what is means to be white as paper.” With the water magnifying the sun’s brutal rays, Arthur is sure that nothing is more of a death trap for him than the Spanish coast in the middle of July. Antonio sighs forlornly, throwing himself back on the towel in a long, suffering stretch. Arthur draws his gaze languidly up Antonio’s slick skin. With Antonio splayed out like that, he can’t help but think of his mouth on that vulnerable chest -- Arthur tastes the ghost of salt on his tongue. Toni looks utterly beautiful with that golden skin; dazzling in the sunlight. Antonio is like something out of a book: plump lips, stunning eyes, chiseled body, and that insufferable innocent air about him.   
Arthur knows better than to believe that though.   
“You’re just so white because you never get outside.” The Spaniard laughs at the jab, nudging Arthur’s thigh with his knee. “And England is cloudy all the time.” Arthur snorts, shooting his boyfriend a dry look.   
“Well we can’t all be beach bums.” He replies in a withering tone. Easygoing as always, Antonio just laughs but doesn’t bother to refute. Arthur isn’t completely wrong, after all.   
“Ah well, I’d he a much happier bum if my boyfriend wasn’t a stick in the mud.” Arthur raises a brow at that comment, turning to face Antonio’s lounging form directly. Really, the fact that Antonio got him to set foot on the beach this time of year is a miracle within itself. There’s no doubt Alfred had tried and tried and tried to do the very same thing. Really, Antonio is privileged he got this far at all.   
“Come on, that’s hardly fair.” He stretches out beside Antonio, propping himself on his elbows. Antonio’s eyes glitter with playfulness, but really where Arthur is concerned that’s fairly common. But the mischievous glint in the Spaniard’s eye sends a shiver through Arthur - a sensation that goes right to his crotch. “I’m much better company in the shade.”   
“Really now?” Antonio drawls slowly, crossing one foot at the ankle. “Care to elaborate on that, Art?” Arthur knows. He knows what Antonio’s suggesting, and he knows that the only reason the Spaniard hasn’t made a move himself is because he’d not been sure whether Arthur’s in a particularly giving mood.   
But lucky for both of them, the sun hasn’t beaten him just yet.   
Arthur drags his hand over Antonio’s chest as he leans in for a hungry, needy kiss. Antonio grins against his mouth, playing along with Arthur’s slow, careful pace. But he knows Antonio well enough to rile him, and when his teeth scrape against the other male’s lip, he’s suddenly on his back, pressed into the now sandy beach towel as Antonio utterly devours him. Sand clings to Arthur’s fingers as his nails scrabble at the Spaniard's wet back, and he whines in protest when Antonio presses a firm knee to the apex of his thighs; offering no relief, only pressure. He feels the man smirk as he moves from Arthur’s lips to his jaw and lingers on the warm juncture of his neck. Antonio’s hands are hot with the sun’s touch against Arthur’s ribs. Everything is hot; the sand, the air, Antonio, Arthur. He sucks in a deep, greedy breath and Antonio nips at his neck in response. Arthur digs his nails into the Spaniard’s back spitefully which elicits a laugh. He wiggles his hips enough between the sandwich of Antonio and the sand to gather a bit of friction between his crotch and Antonio’s knee.   
“Impatient as always, amor.” The pur of that pet name, rolling so delectably off Antonio’s tongue-- Arthur squeezes the man tighter, huddling him closer, keeping him all to himself, wholly selfishly. Antonio hardly minds, rather he gives Arthur what he knows he wants. Antonio presses flush against him, his wet skin slipping against Arthur’s chest; the aroma of saltwater flooding his senses. His breath turns rugged, hungry, needy.   
Toni kisses him again deeply, his gentle touch ghosting down Arthur’s hips to the brim of his own swimwear. At the moment, he’s not so concerned that they’re out in public in plain view for anyone to see. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, that fact nags at him, but honestly the danger is all the more of an adrenalin rush. And how could he say no to Toni? How when every breath upon his skin makes him shudder, and every little nip from that delectable mouth makes him quake?   
Why they had spent so many years hating each other Arthur will never know. But things had been so different then; the rules of countries and their conquests. Then he’s sure the only country he knew by name was Francis, and he’d refused to call him by anything other than his land regardless. Though through all the hatred and dueling, he’d become utterly familiar with the physical aspects of Antonio. His cadence, his grace, his nervous ticks, his tells. Arthur thumbs a scar across Toni’s clavicle; one Arthur had put there himself which had refused to fade with the centuries. Looking back on it, the centuries spent quarreling and fighting and violating were such a waste because they could have been doing these sorts of things instead.   
Sand sticks to his sweaty legs as Toni tosses his shorts aside, quickly followed by his own.   
“Wait,” Arthur breathes. “It’s in my bag.” Antonio presses a heavy kiss to his swollen lips.   
“Is this why you agreed to come to the beach today?,” Antonio teases, reaching past Arthur to grab the lube Arthur stashed away. Really, he has to be ready because Antonio has a mind and heart that’s wild and unpredictable and the man is often overcome with the heat of the moment in the most inopportune times. Arthur had quite enough of not being prepared. If Antonio plans to take him on the beach, then by the gods he won’t complain.   
“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he replies airily, even though nonchalant is the last thing he’s feeling.   
“Filthy liar,” Antonio laughs, so merry and genuine with a softness in his face that makes Arthur absolutely melt. Everything Antonio does is with careful,intentional precision. Every flitting caress, every open mouthed kiss, every gentle nip -- and even the purpling bruises he draws onto Arthur’s fair skin. It’s enough of a sweet distraction for when he presses so carefully inside, waiting patiently for Arthur’s fluttering breath to ease. He presses Arthur’s knees down gently, enough to feel the stretch as he arches into Toni’s touch, the feeling of being full of him all consuming and reverent. Every time they start something like this the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Arthur forgets everything: where he is, what he’s doing. All that matters is their small little bubble of peace, a small slice of intimate paradise only the pair of them share.   
And Toni is very good at making it feel like paradise. That devilish mouth of his trails hot kisses up Arthur’s abused throat as he rocks into him again and again, and he whispers quiet strings of melodic spanish in his ear, nibbling and kissing at the tender flesh. He dotes and ravishes until Arthur is whining beneath him in need and want, so insistently clinging to the other as if he’s the only thing in the world precious to him.   
Antonio knows how rare these moments of vulnerability and transparency are; it's why he treasures them so dearly, why he takes his time. Arthur has never been an open man, but there are small moments like these when there’s no question in the world how he feels and he fully indulges them when it strikes his fancy.   
The heat building between them is stifling, but sweet and welcome despite the surrounding weather. Antonio picks up his pace, reading the tells of Arthur’s body without needing to be told. They've been together so many times now; Antonio’s memorized him, infuriatingly so. But oh, how Arthur preens for that attention, that level of familiarity.   
He digs his nails into Toni’s golden skin, huffing out a shaking breath. Antonio’s callused hand wraps around Arthur’s erection, pulling up in slow, steady strokes. Combined, his actions are overwhelming and Arthur shudders, squeezing hard on Toni’s shoulders. His anchor. He shudders with his climax, crying out as the pleasure surges through his body. Antonio milks it dry, getting off on the satisfaction of pleasing his partner. He cradles Arthur till he’s gone soft, pulling out as he huddles close to his boyfriend, his lover. He pulls Arthur flush to his naked body, and somehow Arthur can excuse the horrid feeling of sand scraping between their skin.   
“I love you,” Antonio whispers in english this time, before pressing a sweet kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck. Arthur laces their hands together, pressing his own kiss to the back of Toni’s palm.   
“I love you too.”   
Sometimes, he hates his weak,weak heart. But sometimes it pays to be weak.


End file.
